New Short Story -- The First Storm of Spring (Part 1)

Although
she was young—probably no older than nineteen—she lived alone, and everybody
wondered why.

She’d
moved in about a year before, and although she went to the local grocery store
every week and stopped in at the gas station and the diner, just like everyone
else, no one knew anything about her except her first and last name: Subee
Cantor.

Subee
wasn’t very friendly, and she rebuffed most attempts at conversation.

“She’s
running from something,” Lacey Witt said when the topic of Subee came up at the
beauty parlor as it did from time to time. “Nobody knows nothing about her. The
only reason we even know her last name is because Ellen down at the post office
told everybody. She’s running from something. Mark my words.”

The
younger citizens of Brown Sugar Basin had been known to gossip about Subee, too,
and the under-twelve set—as well as some of their older teenaged brethren—had breathlessly
recounted to each other, more than once, that the living room of Subee’s house
was decorated with snakeskins she had nailed to the wall. Conventional wisdom
held that Subee had killed the snakes herself, thus earning her the appellation
‘Snake Lady.’

An
eleven-year-old named Roger had added a great deal of luster to his reputation
by regaling his peers with the tale of how he, personally, had seen Subee out
by the swamp one night killing snakes. He further said that it was under a full
moon—though some thought that that was added just for effect. But the essential
details of his story were not doubted by anyone.

And
when a man was unfortunate enough to lose a leg to an alligator in the swamp,
Snake Lady was transformed by some strange alchemy into ‘Gator Lady’ for a time.
Tortuous logic conjured up the argument that the woman who killed snakes had
some kind of affinity for all things reptilian and had sent the gator after the
hapless man.

The
furor over the Gator Lady eventually died down, however, and Subee became Snake
Lady once again.

But
whether Subee was Gator Lady or Snake Lady, the children of the town were
afraid of her, and they dared one another to go near her house.

But
Subee and the town’s other favorite topics for gossip were completely forgotten
on the first day of June, when an even bigger news item dominated all
conversations: Brown Sugar Basin was in the path of a hurricane.

Hurricanes
and tropical storms were an annual occurrence in Brown Sugar Basin, and such
events, though very destructive, often carried a peculiar excitement with them,
driving all other topics of conversation away. Long-time residents would recall
the worst storms that they had personally seen and weathered, and all would
discuss how the latest storm would stack up against past storms. And the latest
hurricane was not going to disappoint: experts had predicted that the hurricane
would be one of the biggest to ever hit the area, and the governor had ordered
that the entire region be evacuated.

The
citizens of Brown Sugar Basin complied in a hurry—for the most part—and it was
up to Sheriff Walt and his deputy to round up any stragglers.

By
noon on Wednesday, the town was all but deserted, and the sky was darkening
ominously.

“I’m
going to check on old Mr. Brooks,” Sheriff Walt said to his deputy, “and make
sure he’s actually left. I’d like you to go check on Miss Subee Cantor. You
know her, right?”

“Yeah,
I know her,” the deputy said. “I’ve seen her before—she’s not like other
folks.”

“Well,
just make sure she’s out of her house.”

The
deputy rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, I’ve got a feeling about her. I
think that she’ll still be there. What if she hasn’t left?”

“Then
request politely that she come with you,” Sheriff Walt said. “You’re a handsome
young fella. I’m sure there’s a little charm in there somewhere.”

The
deputy did not respond, but something suspiciously like a blush stole up under
his tan.

“Once
you’re done out there,” Sheriff Walt said, “get yourself out of here, too. Radio
me once you’re on your way out of town.”

“Will
do,” the deputy said.

Sheriff
Walt got in his squad car and drove off. The deputy did the same.

A
twenty-minute drive brought the deputy to Subee’s tiny house. The waters of the
swamp were visible not too far off, and though the wind had not started yet,
the air was heavy with the feeling of anticipation that accompanied a big storm.

The
deputy got out of the car and walked up to the house.

He
sincerely hoped Subee wasn’t at home.

The
deputy knocked on the door and waited what seemed to him an acceptable time.
There was no answer, and no one seemed to be stirring inside.

After
a moment, he knocked again. As before, there was only silence.

The
deputy turned away, but he felt his conscience prickling. He turned back and
knocked once more.

This
time, the door flew open, and the deputy was confronted by a young woman with
red-gold hair and eyes like a stormy sky. She said nothing and simply stared at
him.

The
deputy moved to take off his campaign hat and then realized he wasn’t wearing
it.

Garrett
suddenly felt himself on surer footing. He had questioned reluctant witnesses
and suspects before—not that Subee was a suspect. He knew what he was doing.
Friendly persuasion was what it took.

“Well,
ma’am,” he said. “Since you already know about the evacuation order, I would
like to inquire what your plans are in reference to said order.”

Subee
stared at him for a moment. “Do you mean, am I leaving?”

“Yes,
ma’am.”

“Deputy—”

“Just
Garrett, ma’am.”

“Garrett,”
Subee said. “I’m not leaving.”

“Not
at all?” Garrett said.

“Not
at all.”

“Ma’am,
are you aware that the storm headed this way is classified as Category Four?
That means your roof could be torn off, your walls could collapse, and trees
could be uprooted and thrown through the air. This storm is a significant
threat to your health and safety.”

“Thank
you for outlining everything so clearly.”

“Ma’am—”

“Subee.
If I’m going to call you Garrett, you should call me Subee.”

“Subee,
this is a serious matter,” Garrett said. “Staying here puts your life at risk.”

“I
know the dangers only too well,” Subee said. “In fact, I know them far better
than you do.”

“So
you’re just going to ride out the storm?”

“Not
exactly,” Subee said. “But I am staying here.”

“I
see,” Garrett said.

He
glanced around the tiny living room that opened on an equally tiny dining room.
Garrett went over to the little table with two chairs and sat down.

“What
are you doing?” Subee asked.

“Well,
ma’am—Subee. I’m not leaving either. If you’re going to ride out the storm,
then so am I.”

“What
does that mean?” Subee asked.

“It
means that until you leave this house, I’m going to sit right here at this
table.”

“You
can’t do that,” Subee said. “You can’t stay here. You’ll die.”

“I
figure my chances are just as good as yours are,” Garrett said.

“You
really don’t understand,” Subee replied. “There’s a lot more going on here than
just a storm.”

“Just
a storm is enough for me. I don’t need to worry about anything else.”

“So,
until I start packing to go,” Subee said, “you’re going to sit right there?”

“That’s
right.”

Subee
moved to her tiny kitchen, and Garret could see her opening the cupboard next
to the sink.

Garrett
sat up in his chair. “Ma’am—Subee, I wouldn’t worry about packing up the
dishes. Right now you should just worry about the essentials.”

Subee
turned around quickly, and her hand flashed out. A moment later, something
struck Garrett in the chest, and a strong, acid vapor, a bit like vinegar,
assaulted his senses and made his eyes tear up.